


Blowjobs Not Included

by sunsetmog



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, Podfic Available, broken ankle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-06
Updated: 2011-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Brendon gets injured, Spencer freaks out, and there is beer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowjobs Not Included

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog.livejournal.com/559809.html) in June 2011.
> 
> Definitely not explicit, despite my intention. Set a couple of days after Brendon's accident.
> 
> Podfic available [here](http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1130206.html).

"Uh," Spencer says, raising his eyebrows and dropping his burger back down onto his plate. "What are you doing?"

"I need ketchup," Brendon says, rolling his eyes and pointing at the counter as he tries to push his chair back. "I'm getting ketchup."

"Uh," Spencer says, shaking his head. "No, you're not. Sit down. Someone grab his crutches and fucking hide them."

"Ketchup," Brendon says pitifully, but he sits down again, one hand on the edge of the table to steady himself. 

"Did you miss the part where the doctor said you shouldn't walk on your ankle?" Spencer says, levelly. 

"It's just ketchup," Brendon complains. 

"It's just a fucking ambulance and EMTs and _crutches_ ," Spencer says, because even though it hadn't been like that moment at Reading - one second Brendon had been singing right there in front of him and the next he'd been on the floor, still and unmoving - seeing Brendon's ankle fucked up like that had still been kind of horrible. "Sit the fuck down and tell me what you want."

"Ketchup," Brendon says again, but this time he's grinning and pushing his glass across the table. "And a refill. And maybe napkins."

Spencer rolls his eyes, and reaches for Brendon's glass. "Okay, whatever. Just because you're sick. Don't think that this is becoming a habit. This is, like, a one-time offer."

"Sure it is," Brendon says, but there's something about the way his smile curves up at the edges that Spencer can just _tell_ means he's going to be at Brendon's beck and call for the next week. 

"Fine," Spencer says, faking a huff. "Give me your glass. What did your last servant die of?"

"Overwork," Brendon calls after him, and grins. 

So, maybe, possibly, Spencer has this _thing_ for Brendon. It's not like a _big_ thing or anything, it's just this tiny, secret thing that kind of means that Spencer spends slightly more time than he should do just checking Brendon out and making sure he's okay. It's no big deal, he's never going to act on it and everything's fine the way it is, but sometimes, _sometimes_ , - like these last few days when Brendon's been sick and in pain and pretending like everything's okay - Spencer can't hide it away. It is like—he can't stop himself. Brendon is his best friend, okay, and he is invested in him on a personal level, but he is also his bandmate and Spencer has a professional, vested interest in Brendon being okay to go on stage and fucking _perform_. 

Spencer also has a crush the size of the moon on Brendon - not that he's ever going to actually act on that, but all fucking week he's just seen Brendon be hit by that bottle and go down, over and over again. It doesn't matter that Brendon's being a brave fucking toaster about this whole fucked ankle thing, or that everyone's acting like it's no big deal and the schedule looks just the same as it did _before_ Brendon fell over and ripped his ankle to fucking shreds, because Spencer is still going to fret about this. He can't help himself. He finds himself watching Brendon wherever he goes on stage, making sure that the seats are clear on the bus and that - even though Brendon's got other people to look out for him, and he's an _adult_ \- he's got everything he needs. Spencer's trying to hide the fact that he's freaking out more than Brendon is about this whole thing, but Spencer's also aware that if he keeps doing stuff like refusing to let Brendon get his own ketchup, the way he's worrying isn't going to remain secret all that much longer. 

He rolls his eyes and grabs a handful of ketchup sachets and a stack of napkins. He is being an idiot. 

~*~

"So," Brendon says, poking Spencer in the ankle with his crutch. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Spencer says, flicking the channels on the tiny TV. "Shut up, watch TV and stop trying to walk all over the bus when we're on the road. We could go around a corner and you'll just fall over and fuck your ankle up all over again." It's like Spencer keeps seeing potential dangers everywhere he looks. He feels like one of those instructional videos they used to watch at school when he was a kid, showing all the ways in which strangers were dangerous or why you shouldn't play with electricity. Everywhere he looks there's just stuff for Brendon to fall over or ways for Brendon to hurt himself and it is _stupid_. Everything is stupid. 

"You're being weird," Brendon says. "My ankle is fine."

"It is not fine," Spencer says, all in a rush. "The doctor said not to walk on the fucking thing and you're doing all these shows and interviews and whatever, and you will fuck yourself up even more, and _then_ where will we be?"

"Stop worrying," Brendon says, after a moment. He lets out a breath. "I've gotten the hang of these stupid crutches now, I'm not walking around off stage, Zack fucking _carried_ me up the steps last night and there's nothing more embarrassing than _that_ , so stop freaking out. You've been weird all week. You keep cleaning."

"Just making sure you're not going to fall over shit," Spencer says, staring steadily at the TV and ignoring the way his cheeks were flushing. 

"I'm okay," Brendon says, softly. "Stop worrying, Spence. I'm okay."

"Fine, whatever," Spencer says, shoulders hunched. "Shut up, I'm watching TV."

~*~

So maybe his _thing_ for Brendon is freaking Spencer the fuck out, whatever. It's just that he can't stop watching Brendon, wherever he goes. He feels on edge and kind of desperate, all of this worrying trapped up inside of him and nowhere to let it out. Brendon is his friend, and he's never shown any particularly specific sign of their friendship ever being the precursor to something else, something more like the kind of relationship Spencer has in his head that he occasionally lets himself think about. Spencer's on a ride to nowhere and he _knows_ this. Normally he just ignores it but now that Brendon's _hurt_ , Spencer's just freaking out and trying to figure out what the fuck to do now, and there just isn't an easy answer that isn't _stop feeling like this about Brendon_.

He's taken to beating the shit out of his kit at soundcheck, and forcing himself to look anywhere but at Brendon whenever they're on stage and Brendon's hopping around like he's not putting himself at risk with every step. 

"We should cancel the shows," he says, coming off stage and shaking his head at Zack. "This is fucking dangerous."

"I'm _fine_ ," Brendon says, from behind him, but Zack's got his elbow and is taking most of Brendon's weight. There's a sheen to Brendon's skin that's down to the pain and not to the adrenaline. "Stop freaking out, Spence."

"I'm _not_ ," Spencer lies. He rolls his eyes and chucks a towel at Brendon. "Fuck this, I'm going to take a shower."

"What is his problem?" Spencer hears Brendon ask as he stalks off down the corridor. 

Fuck everything, Spencer thinks, fuck _everything_. 

~*~

He lets himself have ten minutes when he's not freaking out about Brendon, and it feels pretty good just to stand under the shower and have the water pound down on him. He comes out feeling slightly less like he wants to kick something because Brendon's hurting, and more like he wants a beer and to make sure the bus is clear enough for Brendon to be able to get around on his crutches. 

Brendon's waiting on the couch in the green room. 

"Where is everyone?" Spencer asks, towelling his hair dry. Not that many venues have showers they can use, but this one does and Spencer doesn't care that it's not the cleanest in the world. On tour he'll take exactly what he can get. 

"In the bar," Brendon says, shrugging. 

"What are you doing still here?" Spencer asks, and he wonders if Brendon wants a shower too. Spencer's already mentally weighing up whether Brendon will be able to stand unaided in the shower. It doesn't have any rails. 

"Waiting for you," Brendon says. "Figured I'd see if I could get you to stop freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out," Spencer lies. 

"You're freaking out," Brendon says. "You've been weird all week. I'm okay, Spence. It's just a stupid fucking injury and I'm being careful and not walking on it. It's not the end of the world."

"I just -" Spencer starts. He remembers the way he felt at Reading, that sickening, desperate lurch to his stomach as he'd seen Brendon fall, the way he'd come out in a cold sweat when Brendon hadn't moved. "I want to make sure you're okay."

"I am okay," Brendon says. "Come sit down."

"Everyone else -" Spencer says, nodding towards the bar.

"Everyone else is fine," Brendon says. He's holding a bottle of beer in one hand, and there's another one on the floor by the seat. "That one's for you. I figured we could have a drink in here and you could stop worrying I'm going to break every bone in my body just by breathing. Freak."

Spencer rolls his eyes, but he sits down anyway. His breath feels all caught up in his chest, and he's felt tight and on edge all week. 

"What is really going on with you?" Brendon asks. 

"I don't know," Spencer lies. "I just. I don't know. I keep thinking about Reading."

"I was out for like, five seconds," Brendon says. "I got up and sang afterwards. I was fine then, too."

"You were not," Spencer says. "You were hurt and you played on anyway. Just like this time. You don't know how to look after yourself."

"I do," Brendon says, and he slides his hand over Spencer's knee. "Who's looking after you, Spencer Smith? All of this worrying. You'll make yourself ill."

"You sound like my mom," Spencer says. 

"That's where I got it from," Brendon says, conspiratorially. "I took mom lessons from her. Are they paying off?"

"Freak," Spencer says. 

"Yeah," Brendon says. "Are we going to talk about you now?"

"No," Spencer says. "Let's talk about you some more."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "I am fine, I just rolled my ankle, that's all. It's only a little break. No big deal. It'll be fine in a few weeks."

"You hit your lip on the mic stand and made your mouth bleed," Spencer says. 

"Accident," Brendon says. "You've been freaking the fuck out all week. Do you want to do something tomorrow morning and hang out?"

"No," Spencer says, because Brendon will hurt himself and Spencer doesn't want to be responsible for that. "I want you to stay on the bus and not fucking move."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Brendon says. His hand is still on Spencer's knee, and it isn't like they don't touch all the fucking time, but Spencer is obsessed with Brendon this week, and this isn't helping. "I promise on my life I won't try and knock myself out or fuck myself up or anything," he says. "Cross my heart."

"Don't hope to die," Spencer says, awkwardly. He rubs at his cheeks with his palms, making a face. "Okay," he says. "What were you thinking of?"

"Biggest breakfast in the world," Brendon says, "and I googled and there's a bowling alley. Let's go bowling. And before you say anything, they have those frame things for people in wheelchairs, you just angle it up and let the ball roll down the slide. We could both use them so that it's fair."

Spencer lets out a breath. "Promise you won't try and hurt yourself?"

"If you promise to stop freaking out," Brendon says, and he slides his hand into Spencer's. "I'm fine," he says, and Spencer stares down at his hand in Brendon's. He thinks, _what what what_. 

"Brendon -" he says. 

Brendon shakes his head. "Shut up," he says. "Drink your beer."

Spencer swallows, and take a gulp of his beer. He is holding Brendon's hand. He'd let go but he can't, because at least if he's holding on he knows that Brendon's not off somewhere doing something stupid and getting hurt. Fuck, he needs some sleep. And a day when Brendon doesn't fuck himself up. He tries to pull his hand away, but Brendon won't let go. 

"I'm okay," Brendon says, and squeezes Spencer's hand. 

"Okay," Spencer says. "Okay."

"Awesome," Brendon says, and he bumps his shoulder against Spencer's. "Not going anywhere, Spence."

"I wasn't-" Spencer says, but he was. He's such a screw-up, sometimes. 

Zack puts his head around the door. "You guys okay?" he asks. If he notices Spencer's hand in Brendon's then it doesn't show on his face. "The bar's still open."

"We're good here," Brendon says. "But you could bring us another couple of beers. Crutches, you know."

Zack rolls his eyes. "Not in my job description," he says, disappearing back down the hallway, but Spencer knows he'll be back in a few with another couple of beers. Zack's pretty great like that. 

"Take it easy, Spencer Smith," Brendon says, and Spencer lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Brendon squeezes his hand. 

"Not going anywhere," Brendon says, again, and Spencer nods. 

"I know," he says. "I know." 

~*~

 

 

(and then there were blowjobs. Probably. The end).


End file.
